


Impostor Syndrome

by DarkHeartInTheSky



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Dean/Castiel Reverse Bang 2018, Kidnapped Castiel, M/M, Sassy Castiel, Season/Series 13 Spoilers, the Dean Cave
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-28
Updated: 2018-06-28
Packaged: 2019-05-21 22:47:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14924316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkHeartInTheSky/pseuds/DarkHeartInTheSky
Summary: Somehow, Dean was given one more chance with Cas. Somehow Cas came back to him and Dean is not going to screw it up this time.So of course it turns out Cas isn't actually Cas.Ensue the rescue mission.





	Impostor Syndrome

**Author's Note:**

> My first time participating in the Dean/Cas Reverse Bang! Don't forget to check the awesome artist that made the art for which without this fic wouldn't exist! 
> 
> https://imtoobiforyou.tumblr.com/
> 
> Art Masterpost: https://78.media.tumblr.com/e68a1d6d1fc7989885483f82f4e8173a/tumblr_pb24wfbHN61wfgalpo1_1280.png

 

 

 

“What do you think? Pretty convincing, no?”

 

Castiel looked up from the cold, gray concrete, chin resting in his hand. Asmodeus strutted in front of the cell bars, grinning, a spark of mania in his eyes. Asmodeus adjusted his sleeves and lapels, admiring himself with a leery grin.

 

“Don’t know why you wear this thing that’s two sizes too big, but, I guess it’s your aesthetic at this point. Leaving it behind will only make the Winchesters suspicious. Ain’t that right, tiger?”

 

 

Castiel exhaled and went back to counting the grains in the concrete. Asmodeus clicked his tongue and kneeled in front of the cage. He rapped his knuckles against the bars.

 

“Boy, you look at me when I’m talking to you.”

 

“Sorry,” Castiel muttered, keeping his eyes averted. “Didn’t realize you were talking.”

 

Asmodeus scowled. Castiel wondered if that was really what he looked like when he was angry. Asmodeus huffed and stood back up, brushing off the dust off his coat and dress pants. He adjusted his tie, tightening the knot so that it was pressed against the dip of his throat.

 

In the next cell, Lucifer shook his bars and howled. “When I get out of here, I’m gonna make you eat your own feet!”

 

Asmodeus laughed. “Good doggies know when to sit down and shut up.”

 

“Dog? I’ll show you--you think you’re hot shit, yeah? Don’t forget I made you! I’m your master! You’d still be just another lowly diapered cherub if it wasn’t for me!”

 

“And now you’re the one in a cage, and I’m out here. Oh how the tables have turned. Seems to me Lou that it’s I that has the upper hand in this scenario. So zip your lips before I get you debarked.”

 

While Lucifer and Asmodeus continued to scream at one another, Castiel sighed and ran his fingertips against the ground. Dust and dirt caked onto his skin. The seconds continued to tick by, and Castiel was aware of every single one, like an itch that wouldn’t go away. One million, eight hundred fourteen thousand four hundred seconds exactly since the bars slammed shut. Twenty-one days exactly.

 

“Now,” Asmodeus said, strutting across the room. It was unnerving to see a visage of himself. It reminded Castiel of the Empty; how it had stolen his face and spoke in a strange, unnerving tongue. The sight forced goosebumps to rise on his flesh, but he couldn’t let his fear or uneasiness be shown. A true soldier never let the enemy see their fear. “I’ve got work to do. A Mister Dean Winchester just called to share some exciting news about the Jack. Do you know of him, Castiel?” Asmodeus smiled. It was a wicked thing.

 

Castiel looked away.

 

Asmodeus snorted. “I’ll be off, then. Drexel here will look after you boys. Stay outta trouble.”

 

He snapped his fingers and vanished in a cloud of smoke. Lucifer threw himself against the bars again, causing dust to fall onto Castiel’s head from the ceiling.

 

“Would you knock that off?” Castiel snapped.

 

“Look kid,” Lucifer paced in his small cell, “we ain’t gonna get out of here sitting with our thumbs up our butts. If you would just be a _pal_ and give me some of your grace, I can juice up and get us out of here no problemo. Kill all these sons of bitches.” Drexel scowled at Lucifer, but didn’t say anything.

 

Castiel rolled his eyes. “No. You’d get yourself out of here and leave me to rot.”

 

Lucifer snorted. “Do you really think so little of me, Castiel?”

 

Castiel stared at the wall that separated him from Lucifer. There were sigils carved into the stone, preventing Castiel from simply ripping the entire structure apart.  “Pardon my hesitancy. I just help but remember that time you _killed_ me.”

 

“Grudges don’t look good on you, Cas. Look at ya. You’re fine! Know what’s not gonna be fine? Rotting in here for the rest of forever when Moe there gets a hold of my kid. And when Super Crazy Michael gets here we won’t stand a chance. You saw what he did to that other universe. He’ll rip us all apart on a molecular level. Yeah, Dad’ll have a hard time hitting your reset button then if your cells are dancing across the universe.”

 

“If it’ll mean I won’t have to hear your petulant whining anymore, I’ll take it.”

 

“Not the time to get dramatic and pissy, Cas. The only way we’re getting out of here is if--” Lucifer paused and inhaled; Castiel rolled his eyes. _He_ was the dramatic one? “-- we work together. Your boyfriend’s sure as hell not gonna save us. You might not have noticed, but Dean--he’s the spoon in the knife drawer. A few cards short of the deck. A few beans short of a chalupa--you catching my drift?”

 

“I am not giving you my grace.”

 

“So what? You’re just resigned to wasting away here? Stuck in this dirty shithole surrounded by this filth?”

 

Castiel saw Lucifer’s arm stick out past his cell bars into the open air, gesturing at Dexel. “Lucifer, shut up.” Castiel had been planning an escape. He’d spent every moment examining every nanometer of the cell, looking for any weakness he could exploit to break himself out. He had no qualms about leaving Lucifer here to rot--Lucifer would do the same to him, and having Lucifer kept locked away was the best solution until Castiel could get him back in the real Cage. Or kill him. Castiel had been maintaining his sanity by envisioning all the scenarios where Lucifer died.

 

But Castiel had yet been able to discover any weakness he could exploit. The cell was expoitienty, masterfully, warded. There were carvings on the ceiling, in the walls, on the floor, on the metal bards; ancient, complex scripts Castiel had not seen for years. Inside these cell walls, he was completely de-powered. Only one ladder rung above human.

 

And right now, Asmodeus was on his way to the Winchesters, dressed like him. Castiel swallowed against the tightness that swelled in his throat. Keeping his thoughts away from the Winchesters had been difficult, when in this cell, there was nothing much to occupy his mind.

 

Dean had told him not to do anything stupid. And he’d done something incredibly stupid. Gotten himself captured. He’d just gotten back to the brothers. To Dean. Castiel recalled the hunt they did together, the lingering hug Dean had given him in that alleyway. Dean’s overgrown stubble against his cheek, the faint smell of booze on his breath, the stink of clothes that hadn’t been laundered in weeks.

 

And they had. . . fun on the hunt. It had been fun playing dress up with Dean. Dean’s fingers rearranging the dumb hat. Dean’s smile when he presented the dumb hat to Castiel, putting it on Castiel’s head himself. Making Dean coffee. Talking with Jack; seeing the childlike purity Jack had in his soul--all the bits of Kelly. Cas had been dead and then he’d been alive. Reunited with the brothers again.

 

Separated from the brothers again.

 

Asmodeus was going to see Dean, dressed as him. And there was nothing Castiel could do. Stuck in this prison. Next to _Lucifer_.

 

He’d prefer being back in the Empty compared to this.

 

“I’m not resigned to anything,” Castiel said. “The way out of here is to wait for the right opportunity.”

 

Lucifer sighed and hit his head against the wall. “Figures I’d get roomed with Heaven’s biggest killjoy.”

 

Castiel said nothing. He watched as Drexel walked past their cell doors--and heard the faint jingling of keys. Castiel gnawed on his lip.

 

“You looking at me, pretty boy?” Drexel said, snarling. Castiel kept his face neutral and shrugged. Drexel rolled his eyes. He started walking down the hallway. Castiel leaned forward and saw the key ring hanging off Drexel’s belt loop.

 

Castiel leaned away from the bars. Next to him, Lucifer was arguing with Drexel, but Castiel ignored it all. He knew where the keys were. Now he just had to wait.

 

And he was very good at waiting.

 

.

.

.

 

“You said you had a lead to finding Jack,” Cas said. He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. His muscles were tight.

 

“We do have a lead,” Dean said. “Well, more than we’ve had for the last few weeks. Sam thinks there might be something in the demon tablet. It’s worth a shot, isn’t it?”

 

“I suppose,” Cas said. He looked more put upon than usual. Dean’s stomach twisted at the look of utter contempt that seemed to be lingering in Cas’s eyes.

 

“Look, man, I get you’re frustrated. We are too! But, we’ve got absolutely bupkis on finding the kid and Mom. This is all we’ve got going.”

 

“This is nothing but a hunch.”

 

“Hey, hunches have got us pretty far in the past.”

 

“And what happens if there’s nothing in the demon tablet?”

 

“Then we’re back at square one, I guess. But nothing ventured, nothing gained.” Dean swallowed. “Unless you got somewhere better to be?”

 

Cas exhaled. “No. I’m. . . in the same predicament as you. No leads on the boy.”

 

Dean frowned. He couldn’t quite place it. There was something. . . off, about Cas. Cas was strange on a good day, but now, Cas was acting not quite himself. . .

 

Cas had been dead. Dean had seen Cas die, saw his eyes burn, saw the wing prints burned into the sand. He built the pyre with his own two hands, prepared the body all by himself--he’d been trapped in an animalistic mourning, refusing the let Sam come near. It was something Dean had to do by himself.

 

And then Cas came back. He came back to _Dean_. Dean could still remember that phone call--hearing Cas’s voice over the static. He’d been sure he was dreaming. It was just another bad dream after a bad hunt. Billie had gotten into his head. Or maybe he had been dead after all--maybe Sam hadn’t been able to get his heart beating again; maybe the shot hadn’t worked.

 

 _Dean_? Cas’s voice had said, and it reverberated through Dean’s bones.

 

And Dean drove. He drove and drove, ignoring Sam’s questions and concern, unable to speak; afraid that if he spoke, he’d wake up from the dream. Because even if it was a bad dream, he didn’t want to shatter the illusion. He wanted to see Cas again, hold him again, even if it was just in a dream.

 

And then he wasn’t dreaming. And he wasn’t dead. It was real. Cas was real. Cas was _real and alive and hugging Dean_. Cas was there, smelling like dirt and sun. He was solid.

 

He got his win, and suddenly, the world wasn’t so dark. He could look at Jack and not see a monster; the creature responsible for getting his best friend killed.

 

They’d had fun. Tombstone had been fun. Even though he still thought Mom was dead back then, having Cas back brought light back into Dean’s life. Hope. If they could get Cas back, the world wasn’t so dark and hopeless. And a few days later, they would learn that Mom was still alive--and even if she was in that other World, she was alive--Dean could get her back as long as she was alive.

 

Right now, Dean knew Cas was worried about Jack and Mary. Cas felt responsible for Jack. But he didn’t understand the strange behavior Cas had now.

 

Cas inhaled and looked down. “So where is Sam?”

 

“He’s gone to get Donatello.”

 

Cas’s eyebrows pinched.

 

“Y’know, the new prophet. Amara chowed down on his soul. He’s still pretty chill.”

 

“Oh. Yes.”

 

Dean cleared his throat. “He’s not gonna get back till tomorrow morning, probably. Uh, I figured we could hang out till then. The Dean Cave is almost fully up and running. Still need to get a real TV, but Sam’s laptop will work fine still. Found a decent bootleg copy of the new _Star Wars_. Got a cold six pack. You in?”

 

“Is it wise to be wasting time watching movies when Jack is still endangered?”

 

Something was way wrong.  Cas was always a giant killjoy--more so than Sam, even, and Dean didn’t know how that was even possible. But Cas never turned down movie nights. Ever since Metatron uploaded the entire pop-culture canon into Cas’s brain, Cas had wanted to see the movies. Something about content without context, blah blah blah. Dean didn’t really care about the science behind it all. He was just happy to have an excuse to re-watch all his old favorites, despite Sam rolling his eyes in the background. Dean had always wanted to show Cas the classics: Indiana Jones, Star Wars, Jurassic Park, all sorts of B-horror movies--plus, the cartoons that made up Dean’s childhood: _Scooby-Doo_ and _Tom and Jerry_ and all the _Looney Tunes_ . Cas enjoyed the _Roadrunner_ series, and even if Dean doubted some of Cas’s interpretations of slapstick cartoons, he’d listen to them for hours.  Sitting besides Cas, watching Cas’s reactions to the stories playing on the screen, were some of the best nights in recent memory.

 

And now Cas was turning it down? Dean coughed. “C’mon, man. It’s _Star Wars._ You love _Star Wars!_ ”

 

That wasn’t actually true. Cas complained about the movie’s flaws in interstellar travel and its erroneous depiction of various alien lifeforms. _Star Wars_ was apparently more fiction than science. But he had looked at Dean with that soft look of his and said, “I get enjoyment from your enjoyment.”

 

Cas sighed dramatically. A little too dramatic, even for him. He licked his lips. “Okay,” he said. His face twitched. Dean frowned and pinched his eyebrows together. Cas was rarely so expressive. “Let’s watch your movie.”

 

It didn’t feel like a victory. “Great,” Dean said, swallowing. “To the Dean Cave!”

 

.

.

.

 

The Dean Cave had been his and Cas’s special project for the last year. It had been neglected for those awful few months before Cas came back. Dean found most of the furniture partially used off Craigslist and dump yards. They took off in Cas’s stolen truck to met the sellers and hitched it back to the bunker. They weren’t _actively_ hiding it from Sam. Sam was just...unobservant. And it wasn’t something Dean was ready to share with Sam yet. It still wasn’t done--they needed to get a real TV, something better than Sam’s outdated laptop. And Dean still wanted to get a mini-fridge for the bar. But it was coming together nicely. And it was something that belonged to him and Cas.

 

Dean set the laptop up on a dinner tray and pulled it close to the arm dusty recliners. He also had the six pack sitting on the floor between the two chairs, condensation running down the labels, making them peel. Cas seemed to enjoy beer at least, despite the whole molecules thing.

 

Watching movies with Cas was never this tense. Twenty minutes in, Cas still hadn’t touched his beer, and Dean was already on his second one. Cas always held himself stiffly, but now he was stiff and fidgeting.

 

“You okay, dude? Need to pee?”

 

“I need to find Jack. A fact you seem to have forgotten.”

 

“We’re on it,” Dean said, unable to help but get defensive. They’d all been working their asses off trying to find a way to save Jack and Mom from the other World. It had been a non-stop project for weeks, ever since they discovered that Mom was still alive. Dean paused the movie. “We can’t do anything till Sam gets back here with Donatello, so we might as well relax for the time being.” Dean raised his beer and tapped it against Cas’s. “Cheers.”

 

He unpaused the movie, but now he was having trouble concentrating on it. He just couldn’t get engrossed, not with Cas being so weird beside him.

 

Cas had been dead. Dead dead. Burned. But he came back. Dean could still remember what it was like to get that phone call. His breath had caught in his throat. He hadn’t believed it. Not at all. He thought it was some cruel joke, cast upon him by an even crueler God, wherever the hell He was. Dean refused to believe it. He didn’t even believe it when he pulled up to that crappy payphone in a sketchy area in the middle of the night and saw Cas standing there under the street light.

 

He didn’t believe it until he had Cas in his arms. Dean had been given another chance. And he swore to himself, he wouldn’t fuck it up this time. Never again.

 

He wasn’t doing a very good job at it. For every step of progress they made, they were constantly falling two back.

 

Eventually the movie ended and they watched the credits roll by wordlessly.

 

“What’d you think?” Dean said after the screen went black. The awkward silence was killing him.

 

Cas huffed and shook his head. In a deep Southern drawl he said, “So, this is what you boys do in your spare time?”

 

Dean’s heart dropped into his stomach. The beer churned uncomfortably in his gut.

 

Not-Cas stood up and sighed, rolling his eyes dramatically. “‘Watch out for those Winchester boys’ they said, ‘Do not underestimate the Winchesters and that fallen angel of theirs’ I was told. And come to find out this is what you guys are? Beer and bad sci-fi? It’s pathetic.”

 

“Asmodeus, I reckon?” Dean said, growling.

 

Asmodeus snapped his fingers and he looked like himself--a racist Colonel Sanders. “Guess you do have more than two brain cells to rub together!” And Dean was shoved back against the chair, arms immobile on the armrests, feet pinned to the floor--he couldn’t move.

 

“Where’s Castiel?

“He is where he won’t be a problem. And so long as you cooperate, he will not be harmed.”

 

Dean gnashed his teeth together, pressed deep into the back of a chair. A loose spring poked him in the back.

 

“How long?” Dean asked because he had to ask.

 

Asmodeus grinned, lips pulling comically wide towards his ears. He mimicked with his fingers a telephone and had it up to his ear.

 

“Talk to you soon, Dean,” he said in Cas’s voice. Dean’s stomach twisted into hotter, tighter knots. The pressure on his chest was almost unbearable. Asmodeus laughed at Dean’s expression and shrugged. “Ah, a few weeks, more or less,” he said in his normal voice. “Don’t really see how it makes much of a difference. Doesn’t change the fact that I have him, you don’t. Now, one stray angel, one stray _fallen_ angel to be exact, does not make a lick of a difference to me. But you, now. Castiel means something to you, doesn’t he?”

 

Dean swallowed. He bit his tongue hard enough to draw blood. “What do you want?” Dean snarled.

 

“Isn’t it obvious? I want the nephilim.”

 

“Yeah, well. He’s not here.”

 

“So I’ve heard. You’ve lost it in an alternate reality. Well, Dean, here’s the deal: you are going to bring the nephilim back to this world, and you are going to deliver it to me.”

 

“And if I don’t?”

 

Asmodeus clicked his tongue. “Well, I guess you’re just going to have to ask Castiel what happens then, won’t you?”

 

Then he was gone. The pressure vanished off Dean’s chest and he gasped and coughed for several moments. When he finally caught his breath, he closed his eyes and dug the heel of his palms into them. His heart hammered against his rib cage.

 

He grabbed the beer bottle and threw it against the wall. It shattered into dozens of sharp, brown pieces, the leftover beer spilling onto the tiled floor. “Son of a bitch!”

 

Dean hung his head between his knees and dug his fingers into his scalp. “Son of a bitch,” he muttered, barely a whisper.

 

.

.

.

 

“Well, what are we going to do?” Sam asked. Donatello sat visibly uncomfortable beside him. “We can’t give him Jack.”

 

“We can’t leave Cas with him!”

 

“We’re not,” Sam said. “I wasn’t saying that. But--where even is he? Hell?”

 

Dean considered that horrible possibility for a moment--then realized it couldn’t be true. “The Princes don’t like Hell, remember? They’ve spent like, the last two thousand years staying out of there. And if Moe is really trying to be the new Crowley, he must be on Crowley’s throne.”

 

“That asylum in Massachusetts?”

 

“You got any better ideas?”

 

Sam sighed and chewed on his lip. “Okay. What do you recommend?”

 

“We go in there guns blazing and break Cas out!”

 

“And him?” Sam motioned to where Donatello was sitting at the table, eyes bulging out of his skull as he took in every word.

 

“He’s a big boy. You’re a big boy, aren’t you Donnie? Don’t answer that.”

 

Donatello nodded slowly.

 

“See, Sam? He can stay here by himself for a few days. We’ve got food, beer. What more do you need?”

 

“Dean, you’re not thinking. This is a Prince of Hell. Two needed a magic weapon to get killed and the other was literally deep fried alive by Nephilim juice. We don’t have any of those!”

 

“We’ll figure it out as we go,” Dean said, reaching under the table and grabbing the gun he kept strapped there. He checked the barrel and magazine, satisfied to see that both were loaded. “Look, Moe told me himself: he’s not gonna kill us as long as Jack is missing. We go in, we get Cas, we break the Hell out. What’s so hard about this?”

 

“Uh, the fact that none of this is practical.”

 

Dean felt his neurons snap. He slammed his hands down onto the table, rattling the lamps and causing Donatello to jump back in fright. “I am not losing him again!’

 

The silence that followed everywhere was deafening. Blood roared like a tsunami in Dean’s ears, his temples throbbing. Dean swallowed uncomfortably. “We just got him back,” Dean whispered, throat raw and aching. “I’m not losing him again.”

 

Sam stared at him with _that_ look. Kicked puppy. Donatello just kept staring.

 

Sam’s lips smacked together as he opened his mouth. “We won’t,” he said. “We’ll get him back.”

 

Dean inhaled and straightened his back like steel ran down his spine. “Then let’s go.”

 

.

.

.

 

Castiel braced his back against one of the stone walls, clenching his hands into hot, tight fists where his nails bit into the meat of his palms. Lucifer was standing right against the bars of his cell, reaching his arm out and still screaming.

 

“When I get out of here I’m going to make all of you my bitches! You’ll wish I had killed you when you see what I’ve got in store!”

 

Drexel rolled his eyes, looking just as tortured as Castiel. Drexel slammed his head against the wall in a repetitive motion. “Do you ever shut up?”

 

“Do you have think for yourself? Demons, Cas, let me tell ya: almost as bad as the humans. Never think a single thought for themselves.”

 

“Well,” Castiel said, looking way up at the ceiling, “I guess they do take after their creator in that regard.”

 

“Damn right--hey, wait a minute!”

 

Castiel couldn’t help but take an ounce of pleasure in Lucifer’s pain. It was the only source of entertainment he had in this place.

 

“When Cas finally comes to his senses and lends me a bite of his grace, you’re going to be sorry!”

 

Castiel and Drexel shared an emphatical moment of eye contact.

 

“I’m not giving you my grace,” Castiel snapped.

 

“You say that now, but give it time. You’ll realize that we have no other options if we want to get out of here.”

 

Castiel sighed and closed his eyes. He imagined being in the bunker with Dean and Sam and Jack and Mary, locked in a moment where they could be a family for once, not torn apart by tragedy or fate.

 

The sound of a phone ringing tore Castiel out of his thoughts. Drexel pulled a cell phone out of his pockets and stared at it with fear in his eyes. “Yes sir?” he answered as he walked away from the cages. Castiel leaned forward and tilted his head, but he lost sight of Drexel as he turned the corner.

 

“Okay,” Lucifer said. “Asshat’s gone. Hurry up, give it, give it.”

 

“Not. Happening.”

 

Lucifer howled using his real voice. Castiel wondered how such a sound was every supposed to incite fear in the hearts of men and angels alike--right now, it was just irritating.

 

Castiel closed his eyes again and fell back into the daydream.

 

.

.

.

 

It took them almost two days to get to Massachusetts, despite only stopping for gas and to pee. Dean looked at the decaying building that housed the literal hordes of Hell and swallowed.

 

“Demon knife?” Sam asked.

 

“Check,” Dean said, patting his ankle. “Angel blade?” he eyed Sam.

 

“Right here,” Sam said. “And a gun. At the very least, it’ll slow them down.”

 

Dean had a gun too, holstered to his hip. “All right. Let’s do this.”

 

Dean paused and sent out a short prayer, even though he wasn’t sure if Cas could even hear those anymore. _Hang on. We’re coming_.

 

The stairs were still large and long. When they got to the top, Dean and Sam waited by opposite sides of the door. Sam opened it and let it slowly creak open before cautiously peering inside. He gave Dean the all clear signal and they went inside, weapons drawn.

 

The floor was dusty. Cobwebs hung in the corners. Photos of old patients and doctors sat on ancient tables, coated in decades’ worth of grime.

 

They walked down the hallway, the floor creaking underneath their boots.

 

A demon appeared from the back hallway. Dean and Sam jostled their weapons, but the demon put his hands up.

 

“Oh god,” the demon said, looking worried and strung-out. “You’re finally here. It’s about time.”

 

“Where is he?” Dean snapped.

 

“Look, I don’t want any trouble. Here.” The demon reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small, metal key. He put it on the floor and kicked it over, where Sam caught it by stepping on it. “You can take him out. Actually, please let him out, you’d be doing me a giant favor, he is driving me insane. I mean, I’ve been to Hell, and he makes it look like Disney World. Let’s just pretend we fought and you killed me. I’ll be far far away from here before Asmodeus gets here and you can take both of them back.”

 

Sam frowned. “Wait, what do you mean both?”

 

But the demon was gone. Dean and Sam shared a look. Dean picked up the key.

 

“Cas?” Dean called and he started running. “Cas!”

 

Sam was behind. Dean followed the trail that lead to the basement and he stopped in his tracks at the very top of the stairs.

 

“Dean?” Cas’s voice should have been a relief, but Dean couldn’t find joy in it. Not when Lucifer was in the cell next to Cas.

 

Sam stopped beside him dead in his tracks and froze.

 

“Huh,” Lucifer said. “What do y’know? They did show.”

 

Dean broke. He raced the stairs and stopped in front of Cas’s cell.

 

“Hey,” Dean said, fiddling with the key. “You come here often?” He did a quick once-over on Cas. He looked unharmed, but that didn’t necessarily mean much.

 

“Only on the weekends,” Cas said, deadpan.

 

Dean couldn’t help but chortle. He fumbled with the key two times before he managed to get it in the tumblers. He turned it and the door opened, and Cas came out, immediately pressing his shoulder against Dean’s. They stared at Lucifer.

 

“What am I, chopped liver?” Lucifer said, shaking the bars. “C’mon, Dean. Sam. Sam and Dean. Castiel. We’ve had some good times, right? I mean, we’re practically family.”

 

“How are you here?” Dean snapped. “Where the hell is my mom?”

 

“Uh, funny story--”

 

“The Michael from the Other World used Lucifer’s grace to open a portal here,” Castiel interrupted. “Lucifer escaped back here. Your mother is alive.”

 

Dean stared at Cas. He saw Mom in Jack’s vision, but hearing the words out of Cas’s mouth seemed to make them more solid: Mom was alive.

 

Cas reached down and wrapped his hand around Dean’s and squeezed it. He nodded.

 

“Okay, first of all: gross,” Lucifer said. “Second of all: Cas is forgetting a very important tidbit of information, which is, that the Other Michael wants to come over here to blow this chunk of rock to Kingdom Come.  Which is why you’re going to let me out.”

 

“I am?” Dean said, rolling his eyes.

 

“Uh, you need me to fight the Other Michael. Who else do you think has the juice to go up against the guy?”

 

“He’s missing most of his grace,” Cas said. “He doesn’t have enough ‘juice’ to fight a squirrel.”

 

Dean snorted.

 

Lucifer snarled. His eyes glowed red. “Dean, let me out.”

 

Dean scoffed and shook his head. He started to lead Cas backup the stairs. Cas followed closely behind. Lucifer kept wailing, cursing in several different languages, but whatever spells he was trying to cast were blocked by the sigils. Sam was already waiting at the top of the stairs, looking around for any more demons to come out. None did.

 

They made it outside. The sun blinded Dean for a moment, the light hot and stabbing. Cas looked up at the sun, an expression on his face Dean couldn’t quite read.

 

“Cas,” Dean said, lungs shuddering in his chest. “Cas, I’m sorry.”

 

“For what?” he asked, turning to face Dean.

 

Dean looked at Sam for support, but Sam was pretending to pay attention to a crack in the sidewalk instead.

 

“I--I should’ve known it wasn’t you on the phone. I thought I was talking to you all this time, and--”

 

Cas squeezed Dean’s hand again and Dean shut up. He looked Dean in the eyes.

 

“Dean. Let’s go home.”

 

 _Home_ , Dean thought. He had a home now. With Sam. And with Cas.

 

It wasn’t much of a home when Cas wasn’t there. But he was here now. Alive. Okay. They had a lot to talk about: what to do about Jack, Mary; this supposed Other Michael Lucifer had been talking about.

 

But for now, he had his brother, and Castiel, and they were going home.

 

“Okay,” Dean said, smiling. “Home it is.”

 

.

.

.

 

As they descended the metal staircase that fed into the war room, Dean snaked his arm around Cas’s elbow and discretely pulled him towards the Dean Cave. Cas had given them the run-down during the drive: Lucifer was back. Mom was alive.

 

Dean closed the door behind them and then he stood there for a while, his forehead pressed against Cas’s.

 

“I’m such a fucking idiot,” he said.

 

“You’re not,” Cas said.

 

“I didn’t notice. I was talking to that asshole for weeks, thinking it was you, and I--I didn’t notice.”

 

“Dean.” Cas reached down and folded his hand between Dean’s. “I’m okay.”

 

Dean swallowed the lump in his throat and tried to focus on the warmth of Cas’s palm against his.

 

“I should’ve known it was you,” Dean muttered.

 

“You couldn’t have known. Asmodeus--he’s not to be underestimated.”

 

“I should’ve known.”

 

Cas sighed. His breath was warm against Dean’s cheek. “Quit being so stubborn. It’s okay. I’m okay. I forgive you--accept that forgiveness, Dean. We have more important matters to attend to than you fretting over things that cannot be changed.”

 

Dean sniffed and nodded. Cas was right. Jack and Mom were still locked in that Other World. Shit, now that Lucifer was back...he was still locked up in Moe’s prison, which was less than he deserved. Dean would’ve loved to kill him. Stab him right in his fucking throat.

 

“I watched the new _Star Wars_ without you,” Dean said quietly.

 

“I’ll still watch it with you. Or whatever you’d like to watch.” Cas’s eyes briefly shifted to the pair of chairs.

 

Dean didn’t deserve Cas’s mercy. Cas looped his fingers through Dean’s hand. Dean swallowed and exhaled, and tried to relax. Cas tugged gently on Dean’s hand. He pulled Dean to the chairs.

 

“Or we could watch _Sex and the City_ again.”

 

Dean huffed, ignoring the flush that burned at his cheeks. “Remember, if you tell Sam that’s in my top five, I’m going to kill you.”

 

“Duly noted,” Cas said, smiling slightly--just the tiny tick at the corners of his lips, but Dean relished it. Only he got to see these smiles; they were a rarity that belonged to him alone. Cas hesistated briefly, and then he was kissing Dean--just quick and gentle, but something totally _Cas_. Dean looked over at the laptop, lamented the fact that they still hadn’t found a good quality real TV. Oh well. Time with Cas was all he needed.

 

“I’ll get the beer and popcorn.”

 

 


End file.
